


No Regrets

by Heather_Night



Series: Nothing Left To Lose [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, Concussions, Deputy Allison Argent, Deputy Derek Hale, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Oblivious Scott, POV Allison, POV Stiles, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to help himself, Stiles raised his hand; he sometimes forgot he wasn’t in class and didn’t need to wait for acknowledgement but at least it was a bit more civilized than constantly blurting out his thoughts.  Scott, however, looked pained as he acknowledged him with a sigh, “Yes, Stiles?”</p>
<p>“I just want to make sure I have this straight.  The cuniculi are cute little magical burrowing rodents resembling bunnies and they’re destroying the tree roots and damaging the Preserve.  If we catch them, and separate them, then their magic dissipates and they’re just harmless creatures.  Does that sound about right?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Please find the next story in my trilogy, showcasing the friendship of Allison and Stiles, five years after their misadventure in Purgatory.

No Regrets

_Nightmares come and I can't open my eyes_  
_Running from the best, I know that I can't hide_  
_I get knocked down, shout up to the sky_  
_I've got no regrets_

_\- Nothing Left to Lose_ by Heaven’s Basement

 

Stiles was excited to be back in Beacon Hills. He was enjoying the hell out of school and all of its challenges but he missed his dad, his best friend, the pack and even these little adventures.

Scott cleared his throat, finally wrapping up his spiel, which had been going on for a long enough time Stiles’s attention had waned. “So we’re going to spit into teams, catch the cuniculi and separate them, and the Preserve should be okay again.”

Unable to help himself, Stiles raised his hand; he sometimes forgot he wasn’t in class and didn’t need to wait for acknowledgement but at least it was a bit more civilized than constantly blurting out his thoughts. Scott, however, looked pained as he acknowledged him with a sigh, “Yes, Stiles?”

“I just want to make sure I have this straight. The cuniculi are cute little magical burrowing rodents resembling bunnies and they’re destroying the tree roots and damaging the Preserve. If we catch them, and separate them, then their magic dissipates and they’re just harmless creatures. Does that sound about right?”

Grimacing, maybe because Stiles had summarized what Scott had been droning on about for the last half an hour in less than a minute, Scott nodded his agreement.

Derek muttered something beneath his breath but Stiles didn’t pay any attention. Derek and Scott had an interesting relationship; Scott went to Derek when he needed werewolf guidance, making Derek some sort of mentor, especially with Deaton out of the picture—scared out of the picture by a furious Allison—but when Scott laid down the True Alpha law it rubbed Derek the wrong way. Stiles had to admit it would be difficult going from beta to alpha back to beta, albeit a super-charged one able to shift into a full wolf, but Derek did it with far more grace than Stiles suspected anyone else could achieve so if Derek needed to mumble and grumble, Stiles wasn’t going to begrudge him that.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “So how do you want to do this?”

Derek, Allison and Stiles all chimed in at the same time, “A grid sweep.”

Rolling his eyes, Scott managed a smile. “Okay, pretend I’m not in law enforcement and tell me how that’s done. Oh, wait, that’s right, I’m not in law enforcement.”

“Oooh, Scotty’s got game,” Stiles laughed, nudging his friend with his arm. “Nice sarcasm there, buddy.”

That seemed to lighten things up. 

Allison, no shrinking violet, stepped up to the plate to answer. “A grid search is a  
typical pattern for most searches in relatively flat terrain. The dog team,” Stiles snorted so hard Scott and Derek frowned deeply at him before Allison continued, “Sorry, we’ll make that the shifter team begins on the downwind boundary, working across the wind, and makes parallel passes through the entire sector. By working crosswise to the wind, the searchers will have the same scenting advantage on return sweeps. Distance between sweeps will be determined by terrain and vegetation, wind speed, etc.”

Stiles opened his mouth to crack a dog joke and Derek shook a finger in his face. “Nope, don’t do it.”

Pouting, but in good humor, Stiles retorted, “Fine, spoilsport.”

Jordan piped up. “I think it would make the most sense if some of us swept inward using the grid sweep while the others walk the perimeter. We know the cuniculi are somewhere in this area because of the damage to the trees so if you guys,” he motioned to Scott, Derek, Allison and Stiles, “can flush the little buggers out then those of us on the perimeter will work on catching them.”

“Does that sound like a plan then?” Scott asked.

As usual, the younger pack members were agreeable, shrugging their assent. 

Scott took it upon himself to split the pack into teams. “Let’s work in pairs. Liam and Hayden. Mason and Corey. Malia and Jordan. Derek and Stiles. Allison, you’re with me.”

Stiles almost burst into laughter when Allison quickly piped up. “Actually Scott, I would be more comfortable working with someone else.”

Stiles easily stifled his laughter when he saw the look of hurt that flashed over Scott’s face. He and Scott had never been able to regain that easy friendship they’d had when they were younger—even though Scott didn’t remember what had transpired before Stiles went to Purgatory, Stiles did and it was hard for Stiles to move past the hurt his friend’s doubt had caused—but Stiles still loved Scott, still wanted to see him succeed and it bothered Stiles when Scott was hurting.

It wasn’t Stiles’s fault that Scott and Allison had a relationship plagued by on-again, off-again status and right now it was off although apparently Scott seemed to want to change that. Unfortunately Allison was stubborn enough to hold her ground and Stiles didn’t see her changing her mind anytime soon. Although he thought the adage never say never was appropriate when it came to those two. 

Scott looked heavenward, as though asking for patience, before he weighed in on the request, staring hard at Allison. “Fine. You and Derek can pair up and I’ll take Stiles.” Scott didn’t sound at all enthused about the change in plans and Stiles tried not to let it get to him; this was a Scott-and-Allison thing, not a Scott-and-Stiles thing. That pretty much summed up the school year Scott fell hard for the brunette so this wasn’t anything new. It did get a bit tiresome though.

There were some amused titters and giggles, it was too much to ask that no one else would notice the byplay between Scott and Allison, but Scott quickly took control of the meeting again, clapping his hands together. “Everyone, keep your cell phones handy and mass text everyone with your coordinates if you make contact with the cuniculi. Remember, they’re not out to hurt you, and we don’t want to hurt them.”

Jordan and Malia took command of the outer perimeter watch, assigning areas to the younger searchers. That left Derek, Allison, Scott and Stiles by the big Oak tree where they’d all met to go over the plan. 

Scott, still in serious True Alpha mode, got right down to business. “Stiles and I will go a hundred yards that way,” he pointed west, “and if you want to break off to the east we could sweep inward and see if we can flush out the bunnies.”

Again Stiles passed up the opportunity to tease Scott about the use of the word bunnies for their quarry because in the past his friend had accused him of undermining him and Stiles didn’t want to do that. Stiles liked to have fun but he really didn’t want to be disrespectful. Sometimes maturity was a real drag.

With a wave and a shrug at Derek and Allison, Stiles followed Scott and they headed off in their appointed direction, content to let the True Alpha beat down the underbrush and clear a path for him. 

Jordan texted an update, reporting that everyone was in place for the sweep. Something occurred to Stiles and since no one was around to hear it, he didn’t have to worry about Scott feeling undermined if he questioned him. “Hey, Scott, why don’t we use Walkie-Talkies instead of cell phones? They seem like they might be a better choice for communication out here in the preserve.” 

Scott huffed but answered, “Number one, Walkie-Talkies cost money and I’m not made of money.”

Inhaling in readiness to rebut with how Derek would gladly pony up the money, Scott cut him off. “Nuh-uh, I’m not asking Derek for more money.”

At least the two friends hadn’t completely lost their ability to follow each other’s thoughts. Of course Stiles didn’t agree with Scott’s attitude, Derek had more money then he could ever spend due to the investments of previous Hales, but it was definitely a long-standing issue for Scott who was determined to make his own way and Stiles wasn’t going to poke him about it. Stiles used to have a similar attitude but over time he’d come to realize when it came to the safety of those Stiles cared about, he would gladly overcome his own discomfort to ask Derek to dip into the Hale fortune.

Stiles prompted, “Okay, if there’s a number one, where’s the number two?” He felt his face break a wide smile and he giggled. Come on, they were talking about number two; of course he was going to be amused.

Stiles could tell Scott tried to ignore his juvenile response but the other man finally smiled, too. They might be 22 years of age but there were just some things that were timelessly funny.

“The other reason is because we’ve extensively tested the cell signals out here and there aren’t really any significant poor signal areas. If you happen to hit one, you pretty much just need to move twenty feet in any direction to resolve it,” Scott rested his defense.

Stiles wanted to ask what would happen if the person couldn’t move twenty feet but he let it go. At least Scott had given it some thought.

They trudged onward, Stiles trailing after Scott. They were quiet but it was comfortable instead of awkward.

The comfortable silence was broken after about ten minutes. “Um, Stiles? Can I ask you a question?” Scott asked, his tone hesitant.

So this is why Scott hadn’t kick up a fuss about getting stuck with Stiles—he wanted some inside scoop on Allison.

“Sure,” Stiles answered. He didn’t really want to field this question but both Scott and Allison were his friends, Scott his former best friend and Allison his current, and he didn’t want to ignore Scott.

“Has Allison said anything about us to you?” Scott asked as he stopped moving, turning to stare at Stiles.

Stiles put his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Listen Scott, this is between you and Allison and you two need to work it out or not.” At Scott’s scowl, so at odds with his usual smiling countenance, Stiles relented. “I will say Allison has expressed some concerns regarding what she perceives as your over protectiveness and possessiveness but I also know she told you about that so it’s not like I’m talking out of turn.”

Now Scott resembled a kicked puppy. “I just…care for her so much and I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, you know?”

“Yeah, Scott, I do get that to some extent. It’s just Allison can kick ass and take care of herself,” Stiles responded. “You should respect that.”

Hell, all of the females in the pack were self-sufficient and could defend themselves. Even Lydia, who at school right now, wielded her banshee powers with aplomb. Stiles dared anyone to challenge Hayden or Malia—those were some seriously tough chicks. Allison knew firsthand just how tough Allison was; she’d survived dying and Purgatory. Stiles was self aware enough to realize if there was a weak link out in the field, it was himself. He also liked to think his problem solving skills helped make up for that deficit.

The eyebrows were pushed down in the middle in a vee, displaying Scott’s disagreement. Oh, he had partially shifted, too.

_Awesome._

Arms crossed, biceps bulging, Scott stared at Stiles with as much menace as he could muster. “You have feelings for her, don’t you?”

Weird. Stiles had not seen that coming.

“Um, yeah, Scott, I do. It’s called friendship. Allison has been with me through some of the most disastrous points in my life. For the record, I want you both to be happy,” Stiles concluded. He didn’t tack on he was beginning to think the happiness would never be achieved with his friends as a couple; it was up to the couple in question to figure things out and he didn’t need to be adding fuel to the fire. That was something Scott had accused him of in the past. There was no way Stilinski was going to be a Buttinski, not this time.

An index finger with a claw on it pushed into Stiles’s chest; no blood was shed but it still made Stiles uncomfortable. “Allison is mine.”

Yep, definitely possessive.

“And that, Scotty my man, is the problem right there. Allison isn’t yours, or mine, or even her father’s. She’s completely her own person and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate you threatening someone else because they talk to her. Just saying,” Stiles patiently explained.

It was pretty ironic to Stiles’s way of thinking when he was the more rationale, patient person. Of course his little trip to Purgatory had seen some fairly substantial changes in his outlook on the world and how he navigated through it. The five years since that had happened had wrought some pretty significant changes in him although he wasn’t sure who other than Allison was aware.

When Scott remained in his personal space, Stiles generated a spark of magic and discharged it through his own index finger, watching as Scott staggered back a pace. Finally out of Stiles’s personal bubble. Stiles was pretty particular about who he let within touching distance of his body. The vultures picking him apart in Purgatory had maybe caused some lingering issues.

Stiles’s spark wasn’t good for much, aside from holding a mountain ash ring or a simple parlous trick, but at least he could use it to create a reminder that he wasn’t completely useless. Team Human always had some tricks up its sleeves.

Scott shook his head. It took a moment but his face finally morphed back into his human face and he stared at the ground, looking sheepish. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Wow, Scott apologized to him. Scott also didn’t try to put the issue back on Stiles. Apparently they were all maturing.

They resumed walking back and forth in grid formation. Silently. Except for Stiles’s stumbling and bumbling. Those little critters could probably hear him from a mile away. Although really, Stiles was probably the least likely to catch them so it’s not like he’d be presenting as a fearsome hunter from their perspective.

Stiles’s halting gait stuttered to a stop when something in the air changed. Stiles paused, listening closely, but he couldn’t hear anything. 

He couldn’t hear anything.

“Scott, I think we have cuniculi in the area,” Stiles announced.

Scott paused, his head cocking to the side. Nope, Stiles did not make a comment about dogs and dog whistles. Next Scott’s nose went up in the air, nostrils twitching. Scenting.

“There!” Scott pointed and Stiles noticed a herd of rabbits—check, make that cuniculi—haring out from behind a tree and darted ahead.

Stiles fumbled for his phone, fingers racing as he pushed a mass text advising the cuniculi herd was on the move and he gave the coordinates.

Scott had already shifted and was sprinting in pursuit and Stiles doggedly followed.

One moment he was flying over the ground, thankful for his conditioning, and the next his foot was wedged in a hole and he was colliding with the ground. “Oooof!”

The True Alpha turned around and charged back to Stiles. “Hey, you okay?”

Stiles could tell he wanted to resume the chase. “Can you give me a hand up?”

Scott pulled Stiles’s foot out of the hole and examined it with great care, his fingers probing gently. “You’re really good at that. The animals you care for are going to be very lucky.”

His friend’s face snapped up to stare at Stiles, confused. Once he seemed to realize Stiles was being honest, Scott blushed. “Thanks, Stiles. That means a lot to me.”

Stiles ignored the twinge in his chest. Somewhere along the line, Scott had interpreted the majority of the words out of Stiles’s mouth as critical or adversarial and Stiles longed to change that. Maybe with some of that more recently acquired patience, Stiles could mend those fences more with Scott.

Footfalls moving toward their location alerted them to the presence of Derek and Allison.

Derek took in Stiles sprawled on the ground with Scott crouched next to him. “You okay, Stiles?”

Allison kneeled down next to Stiles, her deft fingers brushing away Scott’s and manipulating Stiles’s swollen ankle joint. “I think it’s just a sprain,” she announced.

Everyone’s phones beeped but Scott, dismissed from doctoring, stood up and was the first to check his screen. “They need my help. Do you guys want to help Stiles back to the vehicles?”

Derek was already nodding his agreement. “Go ahead. If they change direction and come back this way let us know.”

With a lingering look at the three of them, mainly lingering on Allison, Scott nodded and took off at a sprint.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little rough on Scott, Allison?” Derek. 

Allison scowled, standing up, crossing her arms defensively. “I made my feelings known to Scott. Not only that but he always wants to split the three of us up even though we tend to get the best results.”

Stiles stayed out of the exchange; it was a continuing theme and he couldn’t contribute anything new to it.

“Come on, Stiles, we’ll help you back to the car,” Derek finally stopped his mild bickering with Allison, offering Stiles his hand. 

Stiles allowed himself to be levered up and he stood in place for a moment, checking all of his systems. His right ankle throbbed but it wasn’t unbearable. He took a step forward, almost pitching on to this face, both Derek and Allison lunging to grab an arm each and stabilize him. 

“Yeah, it’s definitely sore. If you don’t mind moving at a turtle’s pace, I think I can put some weight on it though,” Stiles relayed.

“Fine,” Allison said, slinging Stiles’s right arm around her neck. Derek did the same on the other side.

Derek huffed. “You know, it would just be quicker if you let me carry you.”

“Yeah, it would be quicker. But my manhood would take quite a hit. Why am I the one who usually ends up feeling like the damsel in distress?” Stiles countered.

Allison snorted. “Because you’re by far the klutziest person I know?”

“Point,” Stiles agreed, grimacing as he put weight on his foot. At least it held his weight.

A light sheen of sweat coated Stiles’s face after a few minutes. “So, I need a distraction. Why don’t you guys tell me how fabulous it is working together for the Sheriff’s Department?”

Derek actually chuckled. “I never thought I’d say it, but I enjoy working with an Argent.”

Allison grinned. “A Hale and an Argent, working together, never thought I’d see the day. But it’s great. We have similar styles and get along great.”

Stiles could’ve predicted that. He was pretty sure both of his friends had complimentary work styles. Ever since Purgatory, Allison had been more impulsive, quick to anger. Like a younger Derek had been.

Derek had settled, was definitely more patient than he used to be, but he had the same work ethic as Allison. Go, go, go. Methodical yet intuitive. 

Stiles couldn’t have been happier for his friends partnering up. Stiles longed to join them but he was pretty sure as long as his dad was the sheriff, it wouldn’t be a good idea.

Stiles loved his dad, really looked up to him, and knew he could learn from him but Stiles had a hard time envisioning his dad taking him seriously. Or trusting him to take care of himself.

Of course Stiles, hobbling through the Preserve, maybe proved his dad had valid concerns.

Allison always seemed to sense his moods. “You know, it could’ve happened to anyone of us. Stepping in a hole and twisting an ankle.”

“Yeah,” Derek concurred. “Anyway I think those magic little bunnies have weakened more than just the tree roots so you probably landed where they’d done some work.”

Their cell phones beeped the arrival of a new message. They all stopped, Derek pulling out his phone. “The cuniculi are headed our way and Scott needs one of us to try to guide them back toward the group.” He looked up. “Allison, why don’t you do that and I’ll see Stiles back to the car.”

Allison frowned. “I think your talents would be better put to use finding the little critters. I’ll take care of Stiles.”

Derek rolled his eyes but agreed. “Call if you need me. I’ll head back to you once I turn the tide.”

“Thanks, man. Good luck,” Stiles called as Derek shifted, racing off.

Allison offered her shoulder and the two headed off again, Stiles limping more heavily without Derek’s support. “You know I’m not completely helpless.”

Stiles always appreciated Allison willingness to stick up for him, and take care of him, but he wasn’t kidding about his manhood taking a hit earlier. Stiles was capable. Or at least he was capable of being capable.

“I know that, Stiles. It’s just that I’ve missed you and I wanted to spend some time with you. I’m used to seeing you every day and now that I’m here and you’re in Sacramento, it’s weird,” Allison explained but out of the corner of Stiles’s eye he could see she was pouting. Someone with a near permanent dimple pouting was a funny sight.

“I’ve missed you too, Al,” Stiles said, pulling the arm around her shoulder until they were plastered down that side of their bodies. “Before you know it, I’ll be back here, aggravating you every day.”

The dimples made a strong appearance. “I’m holding you to that, Stiles.”

They hobbled on until the ground jolted, nearly causing them both to face plant. “That can’t be good,” Stiles declared, staring around the wooded area.

Allison made sure Stiles was able to stand on his own before she drifted off, trying to pinpoint the epicenter of the jolt.

Even though they lived in California, they knew better than to assume this was an earthquake. Not with all of the magic and supernatural beings in the vicinity.

Stiles wobbled again as the jolt turned into a ripple. For some reason he looked upward and damned if a tree wasn’t tottering over toward the ground.

The ground where Allison was now standing, unprotected.

“Allison!” Stiles bellowed. Ignoring his throbbing joint, he moved as quickly as he could toward his friend.

Stiles had never been in quicksand before but he imagined it felt a lot like what he was experiencing right now—his feet were churning but he seemed to be moving in slow motion, going nowhere, fast.

Allison’s body language showed she knew something was wrong, she was on high alert, but she hadn’t figured out where the threat was coming from.

Laying himself out into a flying tackle, Stiles took Allison down, hard. He was able to use his forward motion, tumbling them over and over, frantic to move her away from the falling tree.

Branches scraped their unprotected skin but they avoided the heft of the fallen pine tree. Stiles didn’t know if it would’ve killed Allison, but it certainly would’ve done a lot of damage.

“Allison, are you okay?” Stiles asked once the noise died down. He had ended up on top of her, shielding her the best he could.

Allison’s big brown eyes blinked up at Stiles; even though it was dark, the moonlight was giving off enough light he could see her lips curve into a smile. “Thanks, Stiles. Nice save.” She leaned upward and pressed a light kiss on his surprised lips.

Stiles carefully rolled off her. This was unknown territory for him. Sure, he and Allison regularly bumped shoulders and hips, even hugged, but the kiss…that was something new.

“Did you feel the earth moved? I think I did,” Stiles quipped. He could’ve been talking about the roots pulling free of the ground before the tree plunged toward Allison or he could be talking about this kiss. He’d let Allison decide.

“Um, yeah, the earth definitely moved,” Allison replied, giggling.

Stiles shifted across the ground awkwardly until he could rest his back against a Quaking Poplar tree. 

On second thought, maybe being close to a tree was a bad idea.

“I’d say those magic rabbits did some damage here. We’d better get a move on if—“

The tree, the ground, everything disappeared.

Stiles felt himself falling but something smacked into his head. He wasn’t awake to feel the landing.

“Stiles, come on, wake up,” Allison coaxed. 

Stiles felt like he had the worst hangover of his life. What was really sad was he didn’t remember the fun he must’ve had, getting into that state. “Allison? What happened?”

Stiles couldn’t see much but he could feel Allison hovering over him. 

“The ground gave way and I think we fell into a shaft,” Allison answered.

Stiles tried to remember what they had been doing but he couldn’t quite come up with it. “Oh,” was his contribution to the conversation.

Allison was moving around, the ground he was laying on was shifting around, and Stiles was nervous. He needed to keep Allison close. They were stronger together. He was on the verge of calling out to her when she returned.

“Hey, remember the cellar beneath the Nemeton where we rescued our parents from the Darach? I think this is like that cellar. I can’t get a signal on my cell phone, we can’t go up because it’s buried so I think we’re going to move deeper into the shaft,” Allison relayed the information.

“I, uh,” Stiles began but lost the threat of his thoughts. He took stock of his body and realized while nothing really hurt, he didn’t feel good. He was dizzy, having trouble thinking and his chest was tight.

“Hey, hey, don’t move. Can you tell me where you hurt?” Allison invited.

“I don’t feel so good, Allison,” Stiles replied. Out of all of his complaints, the not being able to reason was the most concerning. “Allison? What happened?”

Allison sighed and it made Stiles feel bad. He must’ve done something to upset her.

“Shhh, don’t worry Stiles. I’m going to get us out of here,” Allison promised in that no-nonsense tone of hers. 

Stiles could feel his strength draining away and it suddenly became very important to him that he tell Allison how he felt. “Allison, I’ve made,” he had to stop to inhale, and cough, “a lot of mistakes. I feel bad the Oni killed you but I’ve got no regrets,” Stiles had to pause again to catch his breath, “because your friendship is the best thing that ever happened to me. Does that make me a bad person?”

It was funny but Stiles thought he could feel Allison scowling at him. “Stiles, shut the fuck up. No more talk about regrets and farewells or heavy shit like that. I’m going to get you out of here and that’s that.”

“M’k,” Stiles mumbled, relaxing into her care.

-0-

Once Stiles started with the crazy talk, Allison realized she needed to triage his injuries more carefully. She pulled out her useless cell phone and hit the flashlight app.

His head was definitely damaged—the slurring, the confusion, the repetitive questions—but it was the moisture coating his left arm that concerned her the most. Something had caused a pretty significant cut and blood was coating her fingers when she probed the area.

Stiles remained silent through her poking and prodding and that scared Allison more than anything else.

Stiles talked to her all of the time. He kept up a steady flow, sharing his thoughts, usually about inconsequential things, also usually perceptive and funny as hell. It was the important things her best friend tended to hold inside and not share, at least until she pestered him.

_His relationship with his dad._

_What had happened with his mom._

_When he was sick or injured._

Stowing her cell phone, Allison stripped out of her Under Armour Scent Control Tech long-sleeved camouflage top, tying it around Stiles’s left upper arm, securing it the best she could. It left her in her sports bra but she wasn’t worried about modesty, or being cold—not with the real threat of Stiles bleeding out on her.

Without adequate lighting Allison couldn’t see how bad the injury was, she could only feel the slick coating her fingers and unless Stiles was a waterbed and had sprung a leak, she was pretty sure he was losing blood at a rate that wasn’t sustainable. She also had her doubts about the top staunching the blood flow; it was great at camouflaging her natural body scent from the woodland creatures but Under Armour always had funky moisture wicking fabrics and she didn’t think that was doing Stiles’s injury any good at the moment. Moving the blood away from the source wasn’t the same as halting, or even slowing it down.

Allison had done the best she could to triage Stiles’s arm. His head was a different matter.

“Allison? What happened?”

Right on schedule. Stiles must’ve taken one hell of a knock to the head if he couldn’t remember why they were in the preserve dealing with collapsed ground and serious injuries.

“Come on, Stiles. We need to keep moving,” Allison coaxed. She rocked him to his feet, steadying him when his legs faltered in holding up his weight. Allison vowed never to bitch at Derek when he made her do squats in the gym after shift; it was likely the only training keeping Stiles on his feet at the moment. That and her sheer strength of will.

Stiles’s right around was hanging from Allison’s right shoulder, dangling freely. She curled her left arm curled around his waist to stabilize and keep him moving. She debated hanging on to his flopping right hand for better leverage but when he tried taking a header, again, she threw her right arm across her own body to halt his progress in a demented, reverse version of momming him in the car when expectedly braking.

It was a slow moving work in progress.

“Left. Right. Left,” Allison counted out. 

Stiles stumbled, again, and almost went down.

“Hey, hey, none of that. No sleeping on the job,” Allison barked, hiking his weight up when he tried hard to make one with the earth.

“Allison? What happened?” Stiles whispered.

Allison didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. If she couldn’t feel Stiles’s efforts, akin to a drunken man staggering down the sidewalk, she’d think he was toying with her.

Why had Allison insisted she stay back with Stiles instead of Derek? Derek could’ve easily carried him to safety, maybe would’ve sensed the cave-in before it happened, and could’ve howled for help if his cell phone couldn’t get a signal.

Allison had just wanted to spend some time alone with Stiles. 

Her best friend was still going to school in Sacramento, currently working on his Masters in Criminal Justice at UC-Sacramento, while Allison had finished her bachelor’s degree for the same major at the same school only she had opted not to get her master’s. They’d spent four glorious, fun-filled years together but now Allison was working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department, partnered with Derek Hale, and Stiles was still toiling away at his studies.

She missed her best friend so Allison had jumped at the chance to hang out with him when Stiles had sprained his ankle. If only a sprained ankle was the worst of his problems now. She only hoped Stiles didn’t pay for her impulsive actions.

A rumble shook the ground and Allison couldn’t keep Stiles upright when he stumbled this time. She did her best to cushion his descent but the cry of pain he yelped out when he made contact with the ground had her cringing.

Stiles sniffled quietly. “Allison?” he croaked out as she kneeled down next to him, shining her cell phone’s feeble light on his arm, checking for new damage.

“Yeah, honey?” Allison answered, distractedly. She couldn’t tell if his arm was any worse.

Stiles listed to the side without warning, Allison lunging forward to prop him up with her shoulder. His arm was definitely worse. Or maybe it was the concussion?

“Don’t be mad at me,” Stiles said as he snagged his right hand on her arm, his breath hitching with the movement, “but I don’t remember what happened. Can you tell me? I won’t bother you anymore if you tell me,” he pleaded brokenly.

Ugh. Allison hated seeing her independent, overly self-sufficient friend so off kilter. 

Pausing, trying to come up with the best response, Allison sighed.

“Sorry. Sorry. Never mind,” Stiles mumbled, cringing back. This time he listed the other way, his injured arm headed right for the ground.

Allison darted forward yet again, trying to keep Stiles upright, the cell phone flying out of her hand to thump him hard on his chest as she grabbed at his uninjured side with her other hand.

Stiles shrank backward, and even in the limited lighting shining from the ground Allison could see he had put his head down on his knees and had covered his head with his good arm. “Please don’t hit me, I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, Stiles, I’m not going to hit you. I’m sorry I hurt you but I’m trying to protect your injured arm,” Allison soothed.

“Did you hurt my arm? You know, like last time?” Stiles was peeking at her from behind his knees.

Allison was perplexed. They had roughhoused and trained together before but Allison had never injured Stiles arm. As far as she knew, he’d never injured his arm while she’d known him. “Who hurt your arm, Stiles, can you tell me?” she cajoled.

“My mom did. I wasn’t listening,” Stiles explained matter-of-factly, his head leaning against his bent knees, his right arm now curled around his legs.

Oh.

Allison wasn’t sure what to say. On one Mother’s Day a few years ago, Stiles had disclosed to her how rough things had been near the end when his mom was declining from Frontotemporal Dementia. How she suffered from visual and auditory hallucinations and sometimes blamed Stiles for things. He hadn’t gone into any great details, which was the norm for Stiles since he downplayed big events, but Allison hadn’t quite realized how traumatic things were for her friend. It was heartbreaking to think about the diminutive, adorable mole speckled Stiles—she’d seen the proof in school pictures—fending for himself against his sick, damaged mother.

“No, honey, you’re listening just fine now. We were in an accident and we have to get help. Do you think you can get to your feet if I help you?” Allison persuaded in her softest, gentlest voice. If she could have physically managed it, she would have swept Stiles into her arms and carried him to safety. She was strong, but not quite that strong.

“M’k,” Stiles agreed.

It took some tugging and shifting and for a moment Allison wondered if they were going to break into the tango but at last Stiles was on his feet, drooping against her.

“Say it with me Stiles, left, right, left,” Allison began counting their steps again.

Stiles tried to follow along but soon only ragged breaths were spilling from his mouth. Stiles’s head lolled heavily on to her shoulder, and even more of his weight sagged against her.

Allison was wearing out, fast, but if they stopped she had a feeling she’d never get Stiles back on his feet. They stumble-trudged forward until finally they couldn’t go any farther, a wall dead ahead. Allison staggered to a stop but Stiles’s feet lacked the coordination and she couldn’t halt his forward progress. Make that downward progress; Stiles swayed forward until he passed the tipping point and despite her best efforts, he spilled on to the ground.

Allison wasn’t sure but she thought she heard Stiles whisper, “Mom, I’m coming,” as he fell forward and that freaked her out. Head injuries were the pits. She’d make him more comfortable in just a moment. The first order of business was getting to help.

The flashlight app was put to use again and Allison was relieved to see the metal ladder embedded in the wall. She would need to climb up it and hopefully she could get a signal topside to call for help. Allison didn’t want to leave Stiles behind but there was no way she could haul him up the stairs in his current injury weakened, breath heaving condition.

Silence mocked her thoughts.

Silence.

What happened to the ragged breathing?

Stiles wasn’t breathing!

_Stiles wasn’t breathing!_

Dropping to her knees, painfully, Allison bent over but she couldn’t hear air scraping through his lungs.

“No, no, no,” Allison chanted as she checked her piece of shit phone one more time to verify she didn’t have a signal. 

Screw this. The first step was summoning help but she couldn’t call 911; she was going to have to go old school.

“Hey, Derek! We need your help! Now!!! Stiles needs you!” Allison bellowed. She was no banshee but she had a strong set of pipes on her and she let loose with everything she had. Stiles’s life depended on someone hearing her.

The next step in the CPS/Rescue Breathing protocol was to see if the person was responsive. Allison’s tap to the shoulder was too brutal, especially with the artery gushing out, so she switched to getting down in his face, asking loudly, "Are you OK?" 

Stiles was definitely not okay. He was verbally unresponsive but it was the lack of motion to his chest resting under her hand or the lack of airflow when she stuck other hand under his nose that got Allison moving along.

Sprawled on his side, Allison needed him flat so she gently guided Stiles on to his back. He needed to be a firm surface and the packed dirt was as good as it was going to get. 

Allison knelt next to his neck and shoulders. She placed the heal of her left hand over the center of Stiles’s chest, between the nipples and placed the other hand on top of the first hand. With her elbows straight and her shoulders directly above her hands, she used her upper body weight to push straight down. 

She tried to gage the compression so it was only two inches but it was hard when Allison was doing most of this by feel, the chintzy light from the flashlight app on her phone perched on the ground next to them unable to provide the visual she needed.

Pushing hard, Allison counted off thirty chest compressions.

Stiles needed his airway cleared. Allison used the head-tilt, chin-lift maneuver, putting her palm on Stiles’s clammy forehead and gently tilting his head back; her other hand gently lifted his chin forward. She sill couldn’t detect breathing—no chest movement, no breath sounds, no air on her cheek and ear as she leaned forward.

“Fuck, no, this isn’t happening. Do you hear me, Stiles? This isn’t happening,” Allison sobbed before she realized she needed to conserve her breath. 

It was time for mouth-to-mouth. Allison had daydreamed about kissing Stiles, his lips looked so soft and sexy, but this wasn’t what she’d pictured.

When Allison pinched Stiles’s nostrils, she felt moisture on her fingertips. 

Damn. Stiles was bleeding from his nose. The concussion had really done a number on her friend.

Allison touched her lips to Stiles, tasting copper. She ignored the blood and made a seal.

The first rescue breath lasted one second and Allison almost cried with relief when she felt Stiles’s chest rise. She administered the second breath before she switched to thirty chest compressions.

Two rescue breaths.

Thirty chest compressions.

Lather, rinse, repeat. 

A hand on her shoulder made Allison gasp.

“Let me take over,” Derek insisted, kneeling down next to her.

Stiles, prone to theatrics, choose that moment to gasp, choke and suck in a lungful of air.

Allison burst into tears she was so relieved.

“Where is he injured? Can he be moved?” Derek questioned her as he hovered next to her. Stiles continued to breathe in and out.

“He’s got a bad concussion but it’s his left arm—he’s trying to bleed out—but I couldn’t get a good look at it in this light. Can we at least get him out of here so we can assess him better?” Allison asked.

“Can you go first? I’ll hand him up to you,” Derek suggested.

Allison felt like she was at the end of her endurance but for Stiles she could find the energy. With a nod she scrambled up the metal ladder, slowing down after almost slipping.

Fresh air greeted her as she left the enclosed space.

Turning around she waited eagerly for Derek to bring Stiles up.

Derek had Stiles cradled to his chest but despite the weight, he was able to use his hands to climb as Stiles’s back and the crook of his legs rested in the crook of each of Derek’s elbows.

It wasn’t elegant but it got the job done and soon Allison was reaching down, guiding Stiles upward, settling him on the ground.

Derek vaulted the remaining way to land lightly on his feet. The clouds parted and moonlight lit the area, throwing Stiles’s form into sharp relief.

Pale featured but still breathing.

“Shit,” Derek bit out as he pulled his belt from his waistband.

The shirt Allison had tied around Stiles’s upper arm was thin, like tissue paper, doing nothing to hold back the streaks of darkness coating his arm.

The makeshift tourniquet was in place, Derek’s strength tightening it more than Allison could ever have achieved.

Derek’s cell phone made an appearance and Allison remembered hers was still down below. She didn’t care; it had failed her when she needed it most.

In a clear, strong voice, Derek relayed instructions to the 911 Operator. He then asked to be patched through to Sheriff Stilinski.

Allison brushed Stiles’s wayward hair away from his face, studying his features. Leaning down she whispered fiercely, “Listen buddy, you will have regrets if you don’t hang on. I’ll make sure of it.”

Derek gave her privacy even though she knew he could hear every word she said. He probably thought she was bonkers but he was kind enough not to say anything.

Clearing his throat, Derek advised her, “Allison, I’m going to meet them and bring them here. We’re pretty close to my old house so it shouldn’t take me long to bring them back here.” With one last look at Stiles, he disappeared through the trees.

A moment later Allison heard the sirens.

Not wanting to disturb Stiles but needing a connection, Allison gently tugged his right hand into her lap and squeezed it. 

-0-

Allison knew she was a bedraggled mess but there was no way she was leaving Stiles until he was out of the woods. The metaphorical health woods that is; the paramedics had loaded Stiles up and quickly hauled him out of the Preserve as soon as Derek deposited them at Stiles’s feet.

Now Stiles was in the ICU cubicle, wired up, a mechanical ventilator breathing for him.

Scott’s mom had assured them Stiles could breathe on his own but due to his injuries, and exhaustion, they were going to help him along.

Blood transfusions had brought Stiles’s levels up to snuff and his wounded arm had been repaired. Now it was just a waiting game to see if there’d been any brain damage sustained from either the concussion or oxygen deprivation.

“Stiles has always been a risk taker,” Sheriff Stilinski said from where he was leaning against the glass cubicle on Allison’s left side.

A smile cracked the dirt coating Allison’s face. “I wonder which parent he got that trait from?”

Sometimes it was amazing to Allison that she and the sheriff had such a great relationship. It had definitely been rocky after she and Stiles had returned from Purgatory, after she’d called him out on his behavior, but Stiles’s father had quickly come to realize Allison was going to defend and take care of his little boy and that was a good thing. When Allison had joined the County’s Sheriff’s Department, they’d gotten know each other even better. Trust one another.

“Believe it or not, Claudia was a risk taker, too. She left her family to move across the country and live with me and we’d only known each other a month. Our kid never really stood a chance,” the older man sighed. “I just wish he’d be more…” his thought trailed off. 

Allison found his hand and gave it a squeeze. “More careful. I know. But Team Human has a pretty good record of pulling through so I’m liking his chances,” Allison announced. She realized it wasn’t just a pep talk, she meant it.

Melissa McCall’s image appeared in the glass of the cubicle as she approached them. Turning around, Allison was surprised when Scott’s mom addressed her. “Allison, here are some clean scrubs. I’m going to take you to the staff locker room so you can clean up. After that you can sit with Stiles, but not before. I’d like to keep his room as sanitary as possible,” she explained.

For the chance to sit with Stiles, Allison would gladly shower off. “Thank you, that would be great.”

“Any change, Melissa?” Stiles’s dad asked softly.

The petite brunette handed Allison the scrubs and pulled the man into a hug. “Stiles is starting to trigger the vent which is a good sign. He’s fighting hard. Just hang in there and hopefully he’ll be waking up soon so he can wrap you around his little finger,” she teased.

“Thanks, Melissa,” he whispered.

Allison looked away from the couple. Were they a couple? She’d never really thought about it. They seemed to share parenting duties when it came to Stiles, though.

Her attention shifted to Stiles. 

The faster she cleaned up, the faster she could be in the cubicle with him. 

-0-

Allison’s dad had brought her clothing and sat vigil with her when the sheriff was in with Stiles. So far Melissa McCall had done an admirable job of keeping the rest of the pack, except Derek who she let come up earlier, out of the ICU family room they’d taken over.

Allison jumped to her feet when the sheriff entered the family room. “How is he?” she asked nervously.

“No change,” the sheriff said, scratching the back of his neck. “Do you mind sitting with him for a while? I thought I’d run to the station and check in,” he explained.

She could see he was torn, wanting to stay here but feeling like he needed to put in an appearance for his deputies. “Of course I’ll stay. I’ll let you know if anything changes,” Allison solemnly promised.

Allison’s dad squeezed her shoulder and then she was making her way into the cubicle. 

Despite the transfusions, Stiles was still exceedingly pale. Allison had a nude colored lipstick and it had more pigment to it than Stiles’s washed out lips. The dark smudges under his eyes lent the only color to his face other than his dark eyebrows and the sweep of dark lashes on his sharp cheekbones.

Man, Stiles had long eyelashes. 

Oh, and the moles. Allison had never realized how sweet, and sexy, moles could be until she’d met Stiles.

The pallor wasn’t the hardest thing to take though. It was the lack of movement.

Stiles was always in motion. Talking with his mouth. Talking with his hands. Making faces. Even when he slept, Stiles was active; tossing and turning and mumbling. If she could hook a generator up to Stiles, she could power up a house. Maybe even a city.

Allison sat down in the chair next to the bed. She took Stiles’s right hand between her own, cognizant of the IV and pulse oximeter. She just needed to touch him.

His skin was too cool but then that was his new normal after he came back from Purgatory. Allison burned hotter and Stiles froze.

At least his skin wasn’t as clammy as it had been in the Preserve.

Allison shied away from thoughts of their time out there.

The pack had been able to round up the cuniculi. Once separated from each other, the magic was supposed to fade and they’d return to plain, old rabbits. Allison assumed Scott was finding homes for them through the vet’s office where he worked but she hadn’t asked.

Remembering Melissa McCall’s words—that someone unconscious could hear, and sometimes respond, to someone speaking—Allison concentrated on aggravating Stiles awake.

“Any time, Stilinski. I’m sure you’re trying to make a point of some kind but it would be really nice if you woke up some time today. Quit slacking,” Allison teased. 

Alarms went off and Allison shot to her feet.

Bodies poured into the cubicle and Allison retreated to the corner. If she drew attention to herself, she’d find herself out in the hallway so she shrunk back, watching closely.

Dr. Geyer whipped into the room, his eyes scanning the monitor displaying Stiles’s vital signs. “All right, folks. It looks like Mr. Stilinski would like the vent removed.”

Allison almost collapsed in a puddle on the floor. She watched with rapt attention as Dr. Geyer guided the tube out of Stiles, coaching him when to cough, and to her amazement, Stiles did.

Stiles had listened to someone. More importantly, Stiles was awake.

“You can come out of the corner, Allison. We’re just going to do some simple tests to check Stiles’s functioning. Perhaps you could let the sheriff know Stiles is awake?” Allison smiled widely, slipping toward the doorway, yanking her phone out of her pocket.

Feeling like she was all thumbs, fumbling over the keys, she texted the sheriff the good news. Next she shot off a text to Derek. She was relying on him to share the news with everyone else.

Hovering near the doorway, Allison watched as Dr. Geyer himself spooned some ice into Stiles’s mouth. Once the doctor seemed satisfied, he asked Stiles some simple questions—his name, date of birth, occupation. 

Allison almost fainted with relief as she heard Stiles’s voice, weak and hoarse, answering the doctor—Stiles Stilinski, April 8th, currently unemployed also known as a student. All correct answers delivered with that dash of patented Stilinski sarcasm.

Strong arms wrapped her in a hug. She expected it to be her dad but he was standing down the hallway. It was Sheriff Stilinski. “How’s the patient doing?” he croaked.

“He knows his name, date of birth and get this, his occupation is unemployed a/k/a a student. I think he’s okay!” Allison squeezed Stiles’s dad in a tight hug before stepping back and jumping up and down like a demented cheerleader.

“You two can quit hovering by the door and come in. I’d like to keep Stiles here over night to monitor his condition closely but I foresee moving him to another wing so an actual patient can fill that bed,” Dr. Geyer explained, his handsome face smiling. Allison tended to forget he was Liam’s stepdad and he knew Stiles, seemed to like him.

Most people liked Stiles although her friend never believed it. He was intelligent, funny and could people at ease. 

And, more importantly at the moment, he was awake.

Allison pushed the sheriff into the chair next to Stiles, content to hang over his shoulder and smile down at Stiles.

Stiles’s big brown eyes twinkled as he mouthed, “Thanks, Al,” at her.

She smiled widely at him and when he winked, Allison knew he was on the mend.

-0-

Stiles had managed to drive everyone except Allison out of the house. The sheriff had wished her luck when she arrived and she wasn’t sure what to make of that until she found Stiles, laying on the couch, face petulant, changing the channels faster than he could possible register what was on the screen.

“You must be feeling better,” Allison commented as she walked into the living room.

“Fuck off, Argent.”

“That’s what I meant. My mom always said I got cranky when I started to feel better,” she explained despite the heavy frown he directed at her.

“At the risk of repeating myself, fuck off, Argent,” Stiles snarled.

Allison could’ve done without the attitude but it was wonderful seeing some animation in her friend. It had been two weeks since Stiles had been injured and in that time he slept, fed and visited the bathroom. When he was awake he pretty much just zoned out.

Dr. Geyer had assured them Stiles was funneling all of his energy into healing and not to be too concerned. This, a fired up crabby Stiles, was a thing of beauty.

“Now that you’re awake for more than five minutes, and can’t really run away, there’s something I want to say to you,” Allison announced, sinking on to the couch next to Stiles’s hip.

“What?” he asked sullenly.

Allison whacked him, hard, on his uninjured biceps. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

“Ouch! You’re not supposed to abuse the patient,” Stiles whined.

“Well you’re not supposed to give up when facing a life-or-death situation,” Allison retorted. “What was that crap about not regretting anything?”

Stiles folded his hands in his laps and stared down at them. “I’m not sure, my brain was really scrambled, but maybe I thought I was a goner and I didn’t want you to feel guilty about surviving if I didn’t” he mumbled.

Allison drew her fist back and let it fly again. “Of course I’d feel guilty. We’re supposed to be in this together, Stiles. No one else knows where we’ve been. You’re stuck with me and I’m stuck with you,” she huffed, punctuating the last word with an index finger to the chest although she didn’t press down. Stiles had a bruised chest wall and some fractured ribs and there was not way Allison was going to setback his healing.

“God, stop already. I’m sorry. No more dying. Got it, loud and clear,” Stiles shifted until he was leaning against the back of the couch on a pillow. Despite their loud words, he was still too pale.

Allison missed seeing his face all pink, be it from anger, embarrassment or something else. 

“Just so we’re clear,” she nudged him in the hip.

“Crystal,” was the response, capped off with a yawn. “I might’ve surpassed five minutes in staying awake but it looks like fifteen is my limit,” Stiles said quietly.

“Healing takes a lot of energy. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, have a nap and when you wake up I’ll make you pancakes,” Allison offered.

“Pancakes?” Stiles questioned, his face mobile with excitement.

“With as much syrup as you want,” she replied. Stiles could practically drain a whole bottle himself and ordinarily Allison would’ve ragged on him for it but if he had an appetite for pancakes and syrup, then he could have as much as he wanted of both.

“Thanks for staying with me,” Stiles murmured, squeezing her hand.

“I told you, you’re never getting rid of me. Now sleep,” Allison coaxed.

Stiles’s scooted down, turning on his right side, his left arm pulled protectively in front of his chest. His breathing evened out and his eyelashes stayed down, covering tired looking eyes.

Careful of Stiles’s bruises and injuries, Allison pulled her legs up and pushed back into his body, making sure not to put pressure on that injured arm or his chest.

All of this worrying had tired Allison out, too. For once she felt like she could sleep.

Stiles’s left arm shifted to curl around her waist. Allison made sure it was at a comfortable angle before she snuggled into the warmth.

Allison knew there were things she’d wished she’d handled differently. True regrets though? She beginning to think not telling her best friend she maybe have different feelings for him was going to be a regret. 

Her feelings for Stiles were bigger. Better. Different.

_Les possibilités intriguaient._

Allison smiled to herself; she’d just figured it out so she hoped she’d have time to share those feelings in the not too distant future.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This story fills my CPR/Rescue Breathing prompt for Hurt/Comfort Bingo. I always enjoy writing straight forward hurt/comfort and I had a bit of fun creating my monster of the week for this story.
> 
> I didn't use the 'Scott is a Bad Friend' tag because I think Scott's actions are in keeping with his history, and what he's been subjected to, in this universe. Hopefully my writing bears that out. If you feel differently please let me know and I'll adjust my tags accordingly.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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